


your sky's a shade of gray

by braille_upon_my_skin



Series: the world we're gonna make [9]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Mild Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13963203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braille_upon_my_skin/pseuds/braille_upon_my_skin
Summary: "It's today, isn't?" The question is purposefully vague, an attempt to keep the topic of their conversation from reaching ears beyond their own.Barnum gives a single sad, weary nod, his shoulders slumping and the luminous, invincible veneer of the showman cracking. "It is."





	your sky's a shade of gray

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a somber departure from the mood of the previous work in this series, but the idea simply would not leave my head.

 

\----

 

" _Shit_."

" _Language_ , Phillip," Barnum's voice, buoyant and jovial as usual, chides.

 He must not have heard the ear-splitting sound of a seam in Phillip's shirt sleeve popping, or he'd understand that the usage of such coarse language is justified.

Phillip was rehearsing with Anne and W.D., releasing the ballasts to send the trapeze artists into the air, and following their aerial stunts as they flipped and soared among the rafters over his head. As he grabbed the rope to assist Anne with one of her maneuvers, he heard a tearing sound, and immediately knew that damage had been done.

"Something wrong, Pretty Boy?" W.D. calls down to him.

"Um, no, not at all." Phillip lays a hand over the popped seam to hide it from view, and gives the siblings a forced smile. "I'm just… " A sufficient explanation fails to take a form his tongue can wrap around, so he urges the trapeze duo, "Carry on," and flees the scene, aware of two pairs of puzzled brown eyes boring through his backside.

He is retrieving his waistcoat from where he had placed it, folded neatly outside of the ring, when he feels the warmth of a presence at his side. Before he can react, Barnum is asking, his voice inciting shivers as his proximity sends his breath down Phillip's neck:

"Tore a seam, did you?"

"Nothing escapes you, does it?" Phillip replies, wishing he had done a better job concealing his mishap. As much as he occasionally loves Barnum lavishing him in attention… okay, more than merely "occasionally", though he'll never own up to it, he is currently failing in most every regard to present himself as a competent and independent adult who has no need to rely on others. Getting stabbed, showing up to work ill and needing Barnum to escort him home and look after him, making Barnum, once more, fret and fuss over the minor injuries he sustained from an unfortunate and unplanned altercation with his father that was, though Barnum insists otherwise, entirely Phillip's fault.

He should have written all of his possessions remaining in his parents' home off as a loss, and returned his key when he took up residence elsewhere.

Barnum merely chuckles and says, "Let's have a look at it, then." He guides Phillip to an area with better lighting, and appraises the tear.

Phillip's body responds to having the ringmaster's sapient stare fixed on him so intently; his heart rate increasing, a fluttering stirring in his stomach. Admittedly, he has been curious to see what skills, if any, Barnum acquired from his background as a tailor's son, so he happily trails along as Barnum, humming thoughtfully, encourages him to take a seat and asks Lettie for a needle and thread.

He observes with interest and a mild flutter of excitement as Barnum pulls the thread through the eye of the needle with steady, dextrous hands, and pierces the material of Phillip's shirt neatly on the first try. Each stitch is created with practiced ease, and the tear is pulled taut and the thread knotted and snipped in no time.

Phillip regards his partner with awe that he hardly bothers to mask.

"There you are," Barnum says, with a prideful tug at Phillip's sleeve. "Good as new."

A beat of silence stretches between them as Phillip continues to stare. Barnum's lips twitching with amusement makes him cognizant of his shameless boggling, and he jerks his eyes away, heat blooming in his face. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"Don't mention it," Barnum says with a laugh. "But, try not to make it a habit. I won't always be on-hand to mend every little mishap."

Phillip's chest clenches. For the first time, he notices the absence of light behind Barnum's eyes, the falsity of his exuberance. "Phin," he calls softly.

Barnum's responding, "Hm?", is pained, but he isn't whirling on his heels, leaving Phillip to follow behind him, desperately trying to rescue him from the labyrinthian canals of his mind he so often slips into.

"It's today, isn't?" The question is purposefully vague, an attempt to keep the topic of their conversation from reaching ears beyond their own.

Barnum gives a single sad, weary nod, his shoulders slumping and the luminous, invincible veneer of the showman cracking. "It is."

 

.x.

 

Phillip and Barnum weave through the sea of aboveground sepulchers and ornamented gravestones topped with statues of grieving saints, angels, and stark white crosses, and engraved with loving messages to the departed from their surviving loved ones. When they arrive at an otherwise unremarkable grave with nothing but a simple headstone inscribed "BARNUM", Phillip knows that his shame is unwarranted, but it persists, all the same.

Standing on this patch of land, looking out over the decadence surrounding them and knowing that everyone he now holds dear will wind up with similarly plain, unexceptional, anonymous tombstones serving as the only testament to their existence, while his parents and all of the insufferable company they keep will have lined coffins buried inside of mausoleums, and statues erected in their "honor", his stomach churns.

Charity Barnum is already at the plot, and she offers her husband a small, wistful smile as she extends her hand to him. "I picked up the flowers," she says softly.

Phillip follows Barnum's gaze as it lands on the bouquet of pink carnations, rosemary, and daffodils wrapped in pale blue tissue paper and placed neatly and delicately in front of the headstone.

"Thank you." Barnum's voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper as he takes his wife's hand.

"I wish you would have gotten to meet Phin's father, Phillip," Charity says, her voice hushed and composed, matching her stance. She is ever the picture of poise and elegance, courtesy of her own upbringing amongst the stifling upper class. But, a hint of fondness steals its way into her tone. "I think the two of you would have gotten along."

Phillip manages a sliver of a smile. "I'd like to have met him, at least once." His eyes fall to Barnum's free hand hanging limp at his side as the older man stands before his father's grave with his head bowed. He grabs hold of that hand, and Barnum acknowledges him with the faintest smile. "He would be proud of you," Phillip murmurs, sliding an arm around Barnum's waist to anchor himself to his partner. Remind Barnum that he's _here for him_.

"An honest, upstanding man like him?" Barnum's dismissive scoff is uncharacteristically harsh, all of him visibly slumping under the weight of a deeply-rooted grief that time will never entirely weather. "I can't imagine he ever thought his son would grow up to be a showman who misguides and misdirects an audience under the pretense of showing them something they've never seen before and will never see anywhere else."

"Oh, Phin… " Charity murmurs, unable to disguise the hurt she feels, hearing Barnum cast aspersions on himself.

"Perhaps not because of the circus, no," Phillip presses on, the ache in his chest echoing the pain in Charity's voice. He runs his fingers gently along Barnum's hip where it rests beneath his clothing. "But, because you prioritize the art of making others happy. That's an honest and respectable trade if ever I've heard of one."

Charity peers around her husband to meet Phillip's gaze. Her eyes glimmer softly with gratitude.

Barnum's smile is still faint, but there's a glow golden as the sun behind his eyes as he leans in and brushes a kiss to Phillip's temple. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
